Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal

“And if I go while you’re still here…
know that I live on, vibrating to a
different measure behind a thin
veil you cannot see through. You
will not see me so you must have
faith. I wait the time when we can
soar again, both aware of each
other. Until then, live your life to
its fullest, and when you need me
just whisper my name in your
heart…I will be there.”

Few things ever push me over the edge. I am tough. I am stronger than most people that I know. I can withstand great tragedies and deaths of loved ones with dignity and acceptance. I can acknowledge the pain that ensues and respect that it will take some time to heal, but today, my heart has been ripped out by some stranger and I am left in the fetal position on the floor. My throat is a lump and I find it hard to do anything.
For those of you who haven’t yet learned, a 24 year old shooter went into his mother’s kindergarten class to dispatch her and in the process, took out most (if not all) of the children in her class. My heart is about to explode out of my chest as I type this. I cannot imagine the anger and desperation that must have been consuming this young man to do something so terrible. I cannot grasp the depth of sadness those parents, friends and family must be enduring at this moment. I only know that it makes me want to hold my children tighter and love them with all that I have. I want to kiss their hands and thank the stars above that I can feel their sweet breath as I hold them close.

There is nothing I can do to change what happened today at 9:41am, but I can make sure that my children understand just how special they are and that I love them with all my heart. I can promise to watch for children who need that love and guidance and hope that I can help send them on the right path. I do know that each day we have, is a precious gift and we must open up each day and end each night with gratitude.  My life may be complicated and weird but I am so grateful for every part of it. I am eternally grateful for the people I hold dear to my heart, especially my beautiful girls. I cannot imagine my life without them.

I just want to send my condolences to all who have been affected by the shootings. My heart is hurting for you. Truly, there really are no words that can afford any comfort, but we are here, sending you love and support.

Here is a poem that has helped me in times of loss:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye.

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  1. I, too, feel like screaming until my throat bleeds. If bearing things like this with nothing but “faith” and platitudes is the requirement of any prospective “heaven”?
    Then I stand, quite firmly, beside the fictional Ivan Karamozov: God can take his “ticket” to heaven and shove it.

    Inhumane human acts require human action to stop, to heal, to prevent. No prospect of possible heaven would comfort me were I one of those parents.

    • What I meant was that we no longer feel pain after death. I have two young children of my own and I could not comprehend losing them to such an atrocity. Even the promise of meeting them in the afterlife would be of little consequence after such a tragedy. Only once I left this earth to meet them in the afterlife, would my soul fully heal.
      No God, no heaven, no promises, no kind words could take away the pain. The only consolation is that perhaps we get to meet again to say our “I love you’s”

      • No, the dead are at least beyond it…all the pain inflicted by other humans in this world. But the parents, they must be inconsolable. Wrapping presents one day, shopping for a casket the next. Nothing, but nothing could prepare someone for that, not for a five year old. Atrocity is worse than tragedy. Because it is inflicted willfully; a storm can be a tragedy, a drowning in the summer pool is tragic. But bloody murder of wee children is an atrocity.

        I have company coming tonight, a big dinner to cook. And I keep blinking back tears cause I can’t seem to make my mind shut the door on the idea of that school room. Since I don’t know what if any afterlife exists or if we meet our lost ones again, I find that no comfort.

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